


Worth a Thousand Words

by Feng_Shui157



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bamf!Magnus, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pining, Seer!Alec
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:11:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9484472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feng_Shui157/pseuds/Feng_Shui157
Summary: Alec paints after his nightmares, its just something he's always done.Sometimes those nightmares come to haunt him in the day time.Lately though, all he can paint are these eyes...this man.He's a shadowhunter, he chases the demons. Now his demons are chasing him. He doesn't really know what to do with that._____Magnus finds a portrait of himself hanging in a gallery in Manhattan. As High Warlock of Brooklyn, he's going to get to the bottom of this.Soulmate AU!





	1. Windows to the Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [All Things Shadowhunters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5178632) by [katikat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katikat/pseuds/katikat). 



> Hey All!  
> So this is my first Fic ever!!! but I couldn't let it go, so here it is,,,  
> This work is Inspired by KitKat's "The Magician" from her collection "All Things Shadowhunters" ch. 138, 143, 189. It is absolutely amazing so check it out if you haven't already!  
> Thank you so much KitKat for letting me take a go at this, you're the best! I love it so much!  
> Un-Beta'd, but constructive criticism is welcome!  
> Let me know what you think?  
> I'm on Tumblr as Jussticed
> 
> TTYL!  
> Shui

The definition of insanity...is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Still, it’s 3 am and Alec is in Simon's studio, standing in front of a muslin canvas. The same thing he has been doing every other day for the past three weeks. These nightmares have become a regular occurrence in his life, and Alec is used to them. But it’s never been like this. 

Even though he got used to them, it’s never been easy for Alec having these nightmares. His parents have told him that it’s just an emotional weakness. Its’ like his parents told him, “Our flaws come from within son.” So there has to be something that Alec has done to make these dreams , some flaw in him. If only his parents knew some of his other flaws, they’d actually have good reason to be disappointed in him.

After Jace started throwing things at Alec for waking him at night through the bond, Alec knew he needed an escape from the dreams. He tried training, but that just made him angry. Running, baking, reading, nothing had been able to help.

One day when Alec is 14, he has a dream that Jace falls down stone stairs, but not at the institute. Instead, the only place Alec had ever seen steps like that was at an old Vamp haunt. Frantically Alec tries to describe the scene to his mother and mid-sentence decides to grab a scroll. His hand can move the pencil across the page faster than his mouth could form the words. Soon the exact scene from Alec’s nightmare has been put to paper. 

An hour later Alec finds that Jace had not fallen during the hunt, and in fact, Jace had almost been hurt because he had kept Maryse from getting to him sooner. Alec had been certain that these incessant dreams meant something, but instead they were another confirmation that he was a freak. He threw himself into his training, honing his archery skills, expanding his weaponry knowledge and tactics. Yet art remained the only thing that could soothe his panic after a nightmare and make the world right side up again. 

After Jace followed the itch and met Clary, the noisy little brat, she stumbled on the closet where Alec kept all his old sketches and canvas. 

“My friend Simon owns a music shop that doubles as a gallery. I’m sure he’d love to have these. You could make some money at least,” Clary said. For a month she pestered him, an entire month until Jace joined in and Alec relented. 

Years later and Alec puts almost all his pieces up in the gallery now, but he never goes to his gallery showings. He paints under a pseudonym because the Clave wants warriors and not artists. To be both is difficult but not impossible; he keeps the spare bedroom in Simon’s place a studio and hides there. 

But on really bad nights he still keeps an easel stored in the closet for quick pieces when he can’t make it to Manhattan. He’s had to use it way more often lately.

It's almost like a trance , the way Alec feels when he’s painting. Like he can reach into his mind into a different reality and capture it on paper. Usually it’s places he has been or demons he has hunted but lately, it’s been these eyes... this man… Alec is a Shadowhunter, poised to be the next head of the Institute; he hunts demons. His demons aren't supposed to be haunting him. It was bad enough after their first night together that Alec had to watch Clary’s name spread on Jace’s skin. It was hard enough that the only person who Alec had ever wanted - was the soulmate of some idiot mundane.

Now, Alec paints this feline man, tall and glittering with gorgeous tan skin and dancing hips. He looks rich and lavish any way Alec paints him, the kohl on his eyes only makes him more mesmerizing. Eight years later and Alec is still painting things that he can’t have. 

Alec thought that if there was any justice in the universe, the least they could do was let him sleep. 

________________________________________________________

Everyone who knows anything about Magnus Bane, knows how he feels about beautiful things:beautiful patterns, beautiful books, beautiful people... So when Ragnor drags him out of his loft after a terrible consult with a racist werewolf, Magnus is pleased to hear that there will be art involved. 

“The artist is relatively new, but Catarina will not stop talking about him,” Ragnor said. “If I have to suffer, so do you.”

Magnus laughs. “Only you would think free food and pretty pictures constitutes suffering, dear cabbage.” 

They wander the gallery, rub elbows, keep up appearances, two of the most powerful High Warlocks, strolling with glasses of Moet. Under glamour of course, the establishment is well known for being mundane during the day but Shadowed at night. Slowly Magnus begins to hear his name whispered in a certain corner. Assuming the usual gossip, and knowing that his glamour is flawless, Mangus keeps to the smaller paintings. Something about them is hauntingly familiar, like a dream just fading in the morning sun. Maybe it was the light or the way the brushstrokes faded into each other but it pulled at Magnus like a string. Ah well, he’s lived too long to let himself get stuck on a half remembered sensation so he turns back to finish his wine.

Magnus is readying himself to leave when Ragnor seizes his arm to drag him back. “My friend,” Ragnor says. “Would you like to tell me why people think you are in two places at the same time? Didn’t we agree that there would be no magic?”

“How much of that Moet have you had Rangor? Turning into a lightweight in your old age?” Magnus laughed. “I’ve done no magic, but let's see what the rabble is whispering, hm?”

Surely there was some… ha, mundane reason as to why his name was being whispered in this small corner. A collection of people, mundane and shadow hover like a live thing in front of a portrait. There hanging on a wall, is the reason Magnus stops mid-step. Hanging on the wall splendid in oil and shade is a portrait of Magnus Bane in all his glittery glory. In the painting, he is leaning against a window spattered with rain and looking into the distance with a soft, dreamy expression on his face. His eyes shine with his warlock mark, his shirt open and soft. Cradled in his hands is a cup of tea, steaming slightly. It’s beautiful.

It’s. Fucking. Impossible.

It’s going home with Magnus right now.


	2. All Eyes on…You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus looks for answers while Alec tries not to kill Simon.

Alexander was anxious, ready to have a brush in his hand instead of his bow. He’d entered his studio to find that most of his recent paintings had been taken down to the gallery. Simon had pushed him into agreeing that they could put up most of the paintings. Alec had set them all in convenient stacks of 6 on the leftmost wall for easy transport. Five days and four missions later, Alec found his studio less cluttered and stocked with new canvases to work on. Hopefully, the new sizes would give him more space to try differences in variation and motion.   
The night was deep, the moonlight fell through the windows casting pale light and softening the shadows that surrounded the canvases and easels in the room. Alec set up his workplace, setting out the colors he had planned for a neutral landscape when he noticed some loose muslin on the ground. Walking over, Alec scans the section of paintings that he’d never sell. The portraits of his family, Isabelle and her whip, Max in the library. There were the charcoal sketches of his least favorite hunts, and the haunting eyes of...where was his…  
The man who haunted Alec’s dreams, The one who made him want to explore every part of himself he had ever tried to bury. The eyes that burned into his chest, the eyes that stayed in his thoughts even in the waking hours....Where the fuck?  
Alec’s Magician was gone?!  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
That fucking,

“SIMON!”

____________________________________________________________

For being the High Warlock of Brooklyn, it was safe to say that not much surprised Magnus anymore. In almost 500 years, he’s seen empires rise and fall, the hysteria fostered by British boy bands and some truly horrific fashion trends. So while Magnus was not often surprised... Occasionally he was confused.   
Magnus, after buying a truly stunning portrait of himself, was thoroughly confused. Two bottles of Merlot and a bag of Type O blood sat on the coffee table while a crystal ball hung in the air in front of the painting. It should have been hilarious. Two warlocks and a vampire, (sittin’ in a tree k.i.s.s.i.)- staring at a painting like they were watching the paint dry. Instead, the air was tense and full of nervous and awkward anticipation. Ragnor and Raphael had joined Magnus in nursing glasses of dark liquid as they waited, while they searched for some kind of insight behind this seemingly impossible portrait.   
The crystal shifted colors from clear to opaque, the indication of nearby magic influence.   
“Well, of course, there is a strong magic presence nearby. We are literally lying about in the sitting room of a high warlock!,” Ragnor grumbled as he nodded to the rug that was beating itself in the corner. The loft of the High Warlock of Brooklyn was teeming with so much magic it was practically enchanted. Hell, Magnus had a magic cat! The confusion enters the equation when, after forty minutes of tracking, scrying, and verbally shaking the downworld phone tree… that Magnus had found nothing.Which was honestly unheard of.

“Simon, just tell me how you got the painting.” Raphael sounded more annoyed each minute his fledgling talked. “Dios Mio Simon, I need to know who painted this! It’s very important...I don’t care about the contract you signed I need- Hello? Hel- Damn it. He hung up on me.” Raphael tossed his cell phone into the table and traded it for his glass of O+. 

It wouldn’t be anything Magnus cared about if it weren’t for the fact that this painting is impossible. In fact, there are three, yes three, reasons why this painting should not exist. The first reason is that the painting screams lovers affection. Magnus however, hasn’t had a lover that... intimate... since Camille. And the whole of the downworld knew that Camile wouldn’t have any picture that didn’t contain her likeness. And while there have been quite a few lovers in Magnus’ life since then, none of them lasted long enough to have painted this. Secondly, none of those lovers had seen his warlock mark and lived to paint it. Magnus isn’t ashamed of his demon blood, but he’d come to the conclusion long ago that he’d rather not share his marks or their weaknesses with any passing fling. Magnus is immortal, but ain’t nobody got time for that. 

It’s obvious this person is using a pseudonym. But who the hell could it be? The name ‘Gideon Wood’ is only found on mundane searches within the last 4 years, and only for his art. There are no other records, no university articles, no taxes filed. If it wasn’t one of Magnus’ friends or past lovers, how is some stranger running around the streets of New York with such intimate knowledge of the High Warlock of Brooklyn?!?!

_____________________________________________________

“Simon what have I told you about putting my pieces up without my approval. That picture was not for sale!” Alec heard his own voice bang around the halls of the old haunting mansion housing the Du’Mort coven. 

Contrary to popular belief, Simon was not an idiot. In fact, Simon was extremely smart. It’s how he had gotten so far in his life as a mundane, and farther still during his short years as a vampire. Which is why Alec is finding it so hard to understand how Simon could have messed up like this. The picture was always in the back corner behind the frames of his family. Always closest to the wall so that maybe he’d resist the temptation to stare at the painting he knew so well. His dreams were always worse after looking at that portrait. That and his wrists always burned where his soul mark should go. Alec tried to ignore it. And...maybe, Alec is so upset about this- because he’s only ever allowed himself to keep one picture of the magician. He’d sketched him hundreds of times of course… but Alec always burned the small sketches to ashes afterwards.   
In no time at all, he found himself in front of Simon and Izzy, who had clearly been...busy. At least that’s what the mussed hair and flushed cheeks said to Alec.   
“Hello, Izzy. Simon why did you take that painting?! It wasn’t up for sale and I need it back now.”

“Calm down big brother.” Izzy dragged her lipstick across her lower lip and blew Alec a kiss.

“I can’t get it back now!” Simon tugged his shirt back into place. “And what’s up with this painting anyway? Raph just called me to ask me who painted it. I didn’t tell him anything! Please don’t break my arm. And now you’re here trying to get a painting that sold for twice the price listed. Twice! That means thirty grand Alec...in case you were wondering. What is so special about that guy anyway. We don’t know him so I put it up for sale-”

“You’re rambling mijo,” Izzy circled the desk to sit next to Alec. “Why are you so upset about this painting anyway?”

“He was in the stack with the hunts Simon,” Alec frowned and pushed off the desk. Pretty soon he started to pace the ugly rug. “We don’t sell those. Just like we don’t sell that 8”x 10” shax demon. It doesn’t matter why, just write out a check so that I can give the customer their money back and get my painting.”

“Alec I don’t even know who bought it.” Simon’s hands flew up. “They asked about who the painter was on opening night too. And when I didn’t tell them they just asked me if I wanted a check or rubies. I mean...who even pays for things in rubies?”

“I don’t care! Just get my painting back Simon,” Alec said. He turned to leave and stopped when Izzy put a hand on his arm. 

“Just a heads up, but Mom and Dad said they’re bringing news from Alicante the day after tomorrow,” Izzy leaned up to kiss Alec’s cheek. “See you on patrol tonight?”

“Of course,” Alec walked out of the office without another look back. As he left the building, he nodded to Santiago as he made his way into the gallery.

Alec didn’t even notice that he was scratching at his left wrist until he got back to the Institute. The long walk back had given him time to scratch the skin tender and red. Oh well, he figured he’d see a medic when they got back from patrol.   
____________________________________________________

Raphael was pleased to see his fledgling getting along with Isabelle as he into the gallery. It was hard enough dealing with emotions, and it helped that Isabelle helped Simon focus. He leaned in to touch their faces softly. Isabelle leaned in to kiss him but he shook his head and looked down to where his fledgling sat.  
“Simon,” Raphael said. “I know that you think you’re protecting your friend by keeping his identity a secret. But I need to know who painted that portrait. It’s very important.”

“What is so important about this painting?” Isabelle asked, annoyed. “Why is everyone so bothered about it?”

“Because,” Raphael smoothes a stray hair back behind Izzy’s ear. “The Warlock in that painting just so happens to be the High Warlock of Brooklyn.”


End file.
